Hi there! Thank you for checking out my story! This is my first story, but I am not new to the world of FF. Welcome to Riptide! Bear with me as I learn to navigate writing my first fic! Thank you in advance for your support! Let me know what you think!

Chapter 1

2 years ago

My beaten truck screeched to a halt on the side of the road, nearly hitting the mailbox. I sighed in relief as my side mirror was still intact, inches away from the worn, wooden mailbox. I laughed as I realized the mailbox was shaped like a bass, with its mouth open wide, waiting for the delicious meal of bills.

That has got to go.

I slid out of the truck and the door groaned as I slammed it shut. I walked around to the bed to see how the boxes held up during the drive. I picked up the first box of a few and fully took in my new house.

House? Cottage? Sea Shack? It's too small to be considered a house.

The siding of the cottage was peeling, only revealing small remnants of the light seafoam blue they once were. The storm shutter was falling, the front door chained up, and the lawn was a gardener's nightmare. Weeds and thistles tangled together throughout the yard, covering the flower beds which used to sit pristinely.

If she could see this now. She would have thrown a fit.

My great aunt Irina kept her house picturesque. Like a postcard. I actually think there was a postcard with her house and the beach in the background and the words "Greetings from Clear Lake, Florida".

I fumbled for the keys in my pocket and walked up the path to the door while juggling the box in my hands. The door unlocked with a click and revealed the inside of the cottage I used to spend my summers. My second home.

"Bella Marie, would you like some lemonade?" Auntie Irina called from the kitchen.

"Yes, please!" I was working on a new coloring book Auntie Irina had bought for me. It was filled with sea creatures of all types. My favorite was the clownfish, he looked silly. Auntie Irina rounded the corner with a glass of her famous lemonade, complete with a plastic bendy straw.

"Bella Marie!" She gasped as she took me in. I was sitting on the floor in a slightly damp striped swimsuit. "Look at your cheeks! They are as ready as a lobster!" She scolded. "I thought I asked you to lather up with the sunscreen."

"I'm sorry, Auntie. I forgot that spot." I looked down at my lap.

"Your mother is going to be angry with me. Next time you go out, let me help you lather up."

"Auntie! I'm six years old, I can do it myself!" I pouted.

"Well, sometimes your forget some spots, you silly goose." She smiled down at me.

"I guess you can help me with those spots, Auntie."

"Great. Now here's your lemonade." She ruffled my hair and went to sit at her sewing machine.

I didn't know what to expect, but it was surely not this. The open floorplan of the cottage allowed me to take in the entire living room and kitchen. There was a sheet covering the couch and rocking chair. The same coffee table sat in the middle of the living room, coated with layers of dust. I switched on the light and set the box down on the coffee table. Dust swirled through the air as it was disturbed by my movements. Her sewing machine still sat in the corner of the room, waiting for her skilled hands to use.

Moving to the kitchen, I was glad to see the same vintage, mint green stove and white vintage fridge. This gave the home true character.

I made my way to the bedroom—Aunt Irina's bedroom. I hesitantly turned the knob and prepared myself. It looked the same. The old pine bed sat neatly made, still with one of Aunt Irina's plush quilts spread over it. The dresser still had pictures of when I was young and little trinkets Aunt Irina had collected over her long life.

I can't believe I waited this long to come back. When I was fifteen, my mother had a falling out with her family. She wanted to remarry, and her family disapproved of Phil. No matter what her family said, once she made up her mind, it couldn't be changed. Now, nine years later, she is still unhappy with being "stuck" in a marriage. She didn't allow me to visit Aunt Irina after that, even though she knew she was wrong.

I felt wetness hit my lip, and my hand flew up to my cheek.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

I wiped my eyes on my sleeve with a new determination. I marched out of the cottage and began unloading what I brought of my life to my new home.

After five hours, the entire house was dusted, swept, mopped and arranged to how I wanted it. The linens for the bed were washed and currently in the dryer. All of my boxes were unpacked, and some of Aunt Irina's things were in them, stored in the hall closet. I loved Aunt Irina, I just didn't want too many reminders of her and the parts of her life I missed out on.

I dug a flashlight out of the hall closet, slipped on some flip flops and headed to the backdoor. I waded through the tall grass in the fenced-in backyard and made my way to the worn gate, separating me from the ocean. Pushing open the gate, I cautiously found my way through the dunes and soft sand to the ocean. The moon was bright, I didn't need the extra light from my flashlight once I stood at the shore. The ocean lapped at the beach, the sound of the waves was familiar, yet also threatening at the same time.

When I told my mom I was moving to Aunt Irina's old place, she was terrified. "How could you live there, especially after what happened?" I knew she wasn't speaking of the falling out with her family. "Why would you want a daily reminder?"

"Mom, I feel connected to him because I am moving there. He wouldn't want me to be afraid and live my life like this. I need to get away."

She didn't understand. Riley would want me to be happy.

I looked around the beach, noting I was not truly alone. A bonfire was raging about a half mile down the beach. Laughter carried in the wind. I remember when I was carefree like that.

Half smiling, I turned and headed back towards home. This area of the beach used to be crowded, especially when the huge house turned bed and breakfast was open. Now, the huge house lies abandoned. I shivered as I remembered when I was young.

On the back porch, I rinsed off my feet, not wanting to track sand into my new home. The hours of driving and work were finally catching up to me, so I laid down and fell asleep, dreaming of the past and the future.

The Present Day

The summer was always the busiest time of year for Clear Lake. I was grocery shopping for the week, and the vacationers flooded the store. Carefully maneuvering a cart through the throngs of people was painful. Okay, I might be exaggerating a little, but I was hangry and irritated with the tourists. Picking up my final item off my list, I headed to wait in line to check out.

"Bella!" A voiced cried. I spun around to see Mrs. Newton waving and pushing her cart towards me. "How are you?"

"Hi, Mrs. Newton. I am fine, how are you? Are you being kept busy at the shop?"

"Oh yes," she chuckled, "I finally was able to get away for the afternoon. Michael and his father are there now." The Newtons owned one of the souvenir shops in town. Summer is the peak of the year for them, as well as many other shops and such.

"I'm glad you are able to take a break." I smiled.

"Bella, are excited to meet your new neighbors? All of the locals are talking about it." My brow furrowed. Neighbors?

"I'm sorry, I'm confused."

Mrs. Newton's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my! You haven't heard? The old bed and breakfast was sold last week! Mr. Stanley has been going on and on about the sale he made. I drove by before I got came here, and there's a crew inspecting the house!"

"What? A whole crew?"

"Yes! Mr. Stanley was bragging how he sold the property to a wealthy interior designer. The house is going to receive major renovations." It was now my turn to place my groceries on the belt and check out. I smiled at Mrs. Newton.

"Thanks for the info. Have a good day, Mrs. Newton."

"Of course, Bella. You need to come over to dinner soon. Michael would love to see you." Mrs. Newton winked. I inwardly groaned. Ever since I moved here two years ago, Mike has made his intentions quite clear. He was not used to being ignored and rejected and over the years he became more insistent on taking me out. He even roped his mom into his scheme.

"Maybe, Mrs. Newton. I have been quite busy myself, you know. This is the busiest time of year." I deflected, grabbing the bananas from the cart.

"Oh yes, I know that too well. Actually, I need to order some more painted shells from you. I'll call you later to work that out."

"Sounds good. Have a good afternoon."

"Thanks, Bella. You as well." As I saw her push her cart towards the bakery, I sighed.

It's been two years, Mike. If I saw you as more than a friend, you would know by now.

Bree, a high school student I knew quite well rung me up. "Hey, Bella! I saw Mrs, Newton chatting with you, still pushing you and Mike together?" She laughed and flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder.

"What do you think?" I frowned.

"Everybody knows he has had a thing for you. Hell, even the tourists know." She smirked.

I rolled my eyes at her and paid. "Have a good day, Bree."

"Bye Bella" she laughed.

Bree is a frequent visitor to the gallery. She is an aspiring artist and claims I am one of her inspirations. She admires my paintings and fawns over the small studio I have set up in the back room of the gallery.

As I rode my bike home, balancing my groceries in the basket in the back I've rigged, I finally saw what Mrs. Newton described to me earlier. A crew of seven or eight men were scattered around the house next door and the lawn. Looking at my cottage, this house looks massive in comparison. Although I fixed and repaired as much I as could, the differences between the houses were laughable.

I loved my cottage though. I had since painted it a soft gray color and painted the shutters white. I had tried to recreate Aunt Irina's flower beds as much as my fifteen-years-old memory could remember. My favorite spot I had worked on though was the backyard. Thankfully, my dad taught me how to use a drill. I had made two raised garden beds and planted my own fruits and vegetables. Aunt Irina's orange tree was still producing fruit and provided very nice shade. I had set up a chair under its branches and it quickly became my favorite reading spot.

I unloaded the groceries and parked my bike in the backyard. I went inside, feeling relief from the Floridian sun and humidity instantly.

The groceries were put away, dinner was cooking in my instant pot, and I was reading a new book about the business aspects of owning a gallery. It was hard to concentrate on the book because I was thinking of the new family moving in next door.